


Exhaust

by yamashta



Category: sweet pool
Genre: Bathrooms, Blood, Body Horror, Dark, Gross, Nonsexual, Other, Scat?, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2189112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamashta/pseuds/yamashta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youji sits on the toilet and cries while pooping. Fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaust

**Author's Note:**

> Not really proof read. Too lazy.

     There he sat. He found himself here almost every day. Twice if he was extra lucky. Thrice on a good day. Generally, though, it was quite unpredictable and frankly was causing his education to suffer. Youji hated it. He hated that his sister was paying for his schooling, only for his health to interfere. He wouldn't tell her. He couldn't. He didn't want to be a burden any more.  
     The boy's restroom. A line of stalls on one wall, a line of urinals on another, and a line of sinks just across. Mirrors, often grimy around the edges and tinted by the rich afternoon light, cast broad, angled rays to shine on the stall's walls, narrow glass window toward the ceiling on the farthest wall letting in just enough light to bathe the toilets in an orange-gold glow.  
     Youji sat upon a toilet, lid up, trousers around his ankles. For a while he'd sat with his hands together to his mouth, eyes shut, trying to focus on something else. It was difficult, though. It was so alien- what he had to go through, to put up with every day. Having to relive the bizarre sensation of living, pulsating things- creatures? Meat? They were something- exiting his body. The first was usually painful- too painful to focus on anything other than the pain. Sometimes they were the size of bottle caps. Sometimes they were the size of fists. The larger they were, the worse they hurt.  
The mid sized ones were the most unpleasant to pass, because although they didn't hurt, he could feel them. He could feel the curvature and pocket-like protrusions of their mucusy little bodies as they wormed their way out. He could feel their veins, their weak, throbbing heart beats. He couldn't hold them in. They may have been rather weak but when they wanted out, they wanted out.  
     Youji rubbed his face, face, neck and arms all growing tacky and cool with sweat, eyes staring idly at the tile of the bathroom floor. Why? Why did this happen? Why couldn't he understand? It made no sense. He was giving birth to these things, whatever they were. Women gave birth to children. They created new human life. Youji gave birth to... this. Something that... could possibly be human, but all the same, more than likely not. Was he not human?  
     Eyes watered. Not from pain or any kind of physical discomfort, but the emotional distress he felt as he thought about everything. The strange events that lead up to this point in time. Youji, often trapped in bathrooms either at school, home or even work, waiting out these strange 'birthing spells' to pass. He found the more he relaxed the easier they came out, but it was difficult. Everything was difficult. It was hard to keep his body calm when he was wracked with relentless tension. The kind of tension that exhausted you, left your muscles burning and your head aching evilly.  
     Whenever this happened he became very self conscious. Every noise made him jump- he didn't want to be walked in on. The stalls had lockable doors, so technically he was safe, but it was obvious what he was doing ( or at least he felt that way ). Whenever another student came in he'd stop breathing. He'd hold his breath, close his eyes, and hold perfectly still. On occasion he'd raise his legs to press his heels against the door, hiding his feet and pants from view to make his stall seem empty.  
     Tears. He hated it when he cried. Especially in the school bathroom. Choking back sobs, trying to silence and hold back noises that needed to be let out. To ease his body, at least for a little while. Half the time he wanted to scream or yell- straight out cry as loud and as hard as he needed and wanted, but even at home he didn't.  
     When he finished he'd clean himself with toilet tissue and stand, pulling his pants up and fastening the button, zipper and belt. He'd conditioned himself not to look. Even when he had to turn around and push down the tab of the toilet to flush it, he was training himself day by day to disassociate. To not process the bright scarlet mess decorating the toilet bowl. He'd only ever snap back into reality once he'd for sure gotten rid of everything.  
     Exiting the stall he'd make his way to the sinks and wash his hands, leaning and slightly hunched. He was just so tired. He always became self conscious here, too. He worried with all the sweat he'd stink in class. He hated attention. He hated being looked at, being talked about. He just wanted to be invisible. To not exist. It'd help get through the day.  
Whatever odor in the bathroom- be it the smell of hand soap or human waste, it always became overpowered by the scent of iron whenever he used it during his episodes. It smelled like blood. Everyone knew what blood smelled like- it was ingrained into the deepest sections of our minds, our lizard brains. He knew the other boys could smell blood while he was in the bathroom and after he left. He knew it. He could feel it. He could feel questioning looks, that slight wrinkle near the mouth and nose of disgust. Processing that smell.  
     In animals they call it the Flehmen response. The beast pulls it's upper lip back, often exposing the teeth. Nostrils narrowed, it inhales slowly and holds the facial position, letting the scent of interest as well as pheromones transfer to the vomeronasal organ located on the roof of the beast's mouth.  
The organ itself isn't functional in humans. Or at least- it's believed not to be. Youji didn't know what a vomeronasal organ was or what it did, but he knew male students picked up scents on him more than they did themselves and their other peers. It unnerved him.  
He'd wash his face and check his underarms for odor, then hastily exit the restroom, eyes averted downward as he passed students. He'd been in there for about twenty minutes.


End file.
